


Getting Good at Starting Over

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Secret Identity, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if almost everything Peter has known about Neal for the past decade is wrong? When Neal's deal - which wasn't with Peter after all - comes to an end, Neal has to help Peter come to terms with the truth, and with a new reality where they were on the same side of the law all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Good at Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [White Collar Big Bang](http://whitecollar-bb.livejournal.com/). Set in some vague post-S5 time, but NO S6 spoilers have been included. I'm glad this one is over - started out loving it, ended up hating it, and I really need to move on to other things. Major thanks to [Treon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon%22) for the amazing video and input!

__________________

Neal Caffrey walked out onto the large patio, pausing for a moment to admire the intricate patterns in the flagstones under his feet. The click of the door closing behind him reminded him that he had somewhere to be, and he looked back up, his eyes settling on a pair of large club chairs that faced out toward the well-manicured lawn.

A familiar figure sat in one of the chairs, looking slim and a bit frail even from a distance. In spite of the fact that it was a mild late summer day, the man was bundled up in a thick robe, with a dark gray watch cap pulled down low on his head. His legs were propped on an ottoman and covered in a dark teal throw, feet ensconced in what looked to be authentic moccasins, not the kind sold in the slipper department at the big box stores.

As he approached, Neal scuffed one of his shoes softly against the flagstones so as not to startle the other man. The head hidden under the cap twitched almost imperceptibly but didn’t turn. Neal stopped a few feet behind the chairs, hands clasped behind his back, watching and waiting. After a moment, the other man lifted his right hand from the arm of the chair, first two fingers beckoning in Neal’s general direction. 

“Hello, Reese.” Neal walked around to stand in front of the former ASAC, keeping his expression neutral for the time being. 

“Neal.” Reese Hughes gestured at the chair beside him. “Please, have a seat.” The same two fingers waved at a small cooler between them. “There’s water in there if you’d like a bottle. I’d offer you something stronger, but I’m not allowed to have it, and you’ll probably be driving later. After I talk to Peter, I doubt he’ll be in any condition to do so.”

“Understood, and thank you.” Neal opened the cooler and took out a bottle of water, mostly for the sake of politeness, but also because he thought he might actually need it at some point during what was likely to be a tough conversation. After closing the cooler, Neal slid his chair around until it was nearly at a right angle to Hughes’ own, wanting to better see his face.

“It’s good to see you again, Caffrey. You’re looking well – and don’t you dare say the same about me.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and a wily spark flickered in his gunmetal blue eyes as they slid up to meet Neal’s. “You’ll have to forgive me for not getting up. I had a treatment yesterday, and it kicked my ass a little more than usual this time. I would have pushed back our meeting until at least tomorrow, but to be frank, I just want to get this over with.”

Neal tucked the unopened water bottle between his hip and the side of the chair and nodded, forcing himself not to give the other man a thorough once-over. In spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way the robe seemed to engulf his body, Reese Hughes still somehow managed to look intimidating.

“What’s the prognosis?” he finally asked, bypassing the small talk, knowing all too well how much Hughes loathed it.

“I’m not dying yet, Caffrey.” This time, he managed a small smile, though Neal couldn’t quite bring himself to return it. “They’re cautiously optimistic that the experimental drug will work, and I still have many more good days than bad at this point. That’s why I’m choosing to get out now. I still have all of my mental faculties and enough time to make all of the needed arrangements.” He cocked his head, giving Neal a frank stare. “And if my health would happen to go downhill a lot earlier than expected…well, that’s why you’re here today. I’ve officially resigned. My time with the organization has come to an end.”

Neal ran his index finger over his lower lip. “And so has my deal.”

“It has.” Hughes glanced down at the anklet, then back up at the man wearing it. “Will you miss it?”

“The tracker, no. I’ll probably feel naked without it, though.” Neal finally allowed a faint smile to play around the corners of his mouth. “Now being able to do all of the things I did with the bureau’s blessing – _that_ , I’ll miss.”

“Ah, yes. It’s been quite a trip, hasn’t it?” Hughes watched him for a long moment, fingers steepled under his chin. “I’ve got to say, Peter had me worried more than a few times. I’m still not sure how we managed to keep it from him for all these years.”

The smile dropped from Neal’s face, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. In spite of his deep respect for the man, Hughes’ somewhat cavalier attitude toward that part of the situation – Neal deceiving Peter for ten years – sent a shiver through him, and the coldness settled deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“Peter’s the most intelligent man I know, and that’s an understatement. Do you even realize just how many times I had to scramble to keep him from figuring it out? There were nights when I’d lay awake, trying to come up with ways to stay five, ten steps ahead of him. For a goddamn _decade_ , Reese.”

“I know, Neal, and –”

“I don’t think you do,” Neal said, cutting him off, his voice low and stern. “I told him over and over that I wouldn’t lie to him, and he held me to that. There were several times when his life was on the line, _Elizabeth’s_ life. Hell, Peter spent six weeks in prison. In _prison_ , Reese. And for what? So we could be the Robin Hoods of the art world?”

Hughes leaned forward in the chair, his jaw set, the remnants of his eyebrows pulling together. “What we’ve done – what you and Peter have done – is a hell of a lot more important than that, and you know it. You’ve devoted most of your adult life to this project, for god’s sake.” Neal continued to stare him down but said nothing, and Hughes finally sighed and shook his head. “Look, I know we took a huge risk bringing Peter into this, especially since we kept him on the outside, but it was for his own safety. We needed him, but if we’d introduced him into the organization, think of what that would have done to his life, to his marriage. We did the right thing.”

“At what cost?” Neal said softly, looking away. “Peter’s never going to forgive me. He’s never going to _trust_ me.”

“I’ll talk to Peter. He won’t hold this against you. You have my word.”

Neal knew the other man was waiting for him to look back up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d been so busy keeping the operation going – and keeping Peter from figuring it out – that he’d seldom stopped to think of what would happen to their partnership once the grand illusion came to an end. And not just their partnership, but their friendship.

Now, after so many years, the end was bearing down on him like a freight train in a long, narrow tunnel. The thought of Peter learning the truth hit him hard, right in the chest, and he struggled to keep from gasping out loud. He somehow managed to school his expression, and he knew that Reese Hughes couldn’t read him well enough to know just how badly he was hurting.

“Neal, you need to trust that I’ll straighten this out.” Hughes’ voice was calm, tinged with sympathy. “I’ll make sure Peter knows that you didn’t want to deceive him, that it was out of your control. He’ll understand.” Neal looked up sharply, and Hughes held up both hands in a placating gesture. Those once-steady hands, now ravaged by an illness he might never defeat, trembled in front of him, but the older man seemed to not care. “He will. And you know why.”

Neal closed his eyes, hating that they stung with emotion. He ran a hand all the way through his hair, letting it rest on the nape of his neck for a moment. When he finally looked back up at Hughes, the older man was regarding him with an expression that was somehow both stoic and benevolent.

“Yeah,” Neal finally replied. “I do know why. He’ll accept it because justice prevailed, so many times over. What we did was done for the greater good, to right significant wrongs. Everything we’ve recovered will benefit all of mankind well beyond the span of our lives or the scope of our understanding.”

Hughes stared at him, wide-eyed and head slightly cocked, before finally smirking at him. “You make us sound like superheroes.”

“No, I’m just giving you the same line of bullshit you’re going to feed to Peter, and I wanted you to know how it’s going to sound to him.”

Instead of getting angry with him, Hughes simply looked away, focusing his attention on the vast sea of green before him. He sat silent for several moments, seeming to be lost in thought, and Neal wasn’t sure at first if he was considering the younger man’s words or if he was zoning out from whatever medications he was taking. 

When the former ASAC’s eyes finally returned to meet his, Neal was startled to see a hint of sadness in them. “I’m sorry for what you and Peter went through, Neal. I truly am. When we recruited you for this project, we had no idea just how far you would go. And when we teamed you up with Peter, well…to say the two of you exceeded our expectations would be a colossal understatement.” He shook his head and let out a resigned sigh. “They wanted to keep you on and assign you to someone else after I left, Neal – both of you. I talked them out of it. I fought damn hard for your freedom, for Peter’s freedom. Ten years is already way too long for you to have to live like this. To have to be someone you’re not.” He looked down at the blanket over his legs, his spindly fingers smoothing the fringe.

Neal wasn’t sure how to respond, stunned by the confession. When he’d been recruited for the organization while still in college, he had book smarts, but he’d still been naïve enough to believe that he was only signing on for a short-term assignment. They needed his sharp eye when it came to forgeries, his artistic talents and expertise, and his intelligence, or so they’d told him. 

He’d trained with them, had been mentored by the founder of the organization himself, and had quickly become their best operative. They’d even put him in charge of the training program for a short time before realizing that he was far more valuable to them in the field. That’s when they gave him a new identity, created a complex backstory, and practically dropped him right into Peter Burke’s lap – or at least the forged Atlantic Incorporated bonds they’d created as part of the setup.

They’d wanted Peter, but they’d known there was no way he’d join the organization, not with his loyalty to the bureau – and to Elizabeth. There was a damn good reason why most of the operatives weren’t married. So instead, they’d given Peter a case so intriguing that he couldn’t pass it up and had introduced him to a criminal so intelligent and charismatic that even Peter had to respect him on some level. They’d given him Neal Caffrey.

Neal took a drink of his water, trying to ignore the slight tremor in his own hand. He felt emotionally drained, Hughes’ words still circling in his chest, tightening around his heart. “Reese, I – they wanted us to keep going? After all this time? After everything we’ve _sacrificed_ for them?”

Hughes reached into his robe and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, then handed it to Neal. The words on the page confirmed Hughes’ claims, and they were devastating. Neal stood, the paper still clutched in his hand, and paced to the end of the patio. He closed his eyes, forced himself to regulate his breathing, and waited until the blood stopped rushing in his ears and his fingers stopped tingling before he turned back.

Hughes had removed the blanket from his legs and was pushing himself up slowly. Neal automatically started in his direction, but Hughes held up a hand to stop him and made his way over to where Neal was standing.

“I couldn’t let them do it,” he said softly, taking the paper and putting it back into the pocket of the shirt he wore under the robe. “It’s not what he would have wanted, and they know it. It’s time for you and Peter to start living again – separately, and as a team. You two don’t need this hanging over your heads anymore, Neal. You’ve gone way beyond what was expected.” He put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “You deserve this. And even though he doesn’t know it, Peter deserves this.”

“Thank you, Reese,” Neal managed, his voice faltering on the other man’s name. Hughes pulled him into a brief and unexpected hug, the strength of it surprising Neal, before pulling away.

“Caffrey, working with you has been one hell of a roller coaster ride, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Neal swallowed hard, managing to smile in spite of the struggle with his emotions. “Not even for the Vermeer from the Gardner heist?”

Hughes actually laughed, a bit of color surging into his pale cheeks. “Not even for that – but don’t tempt me. If I thought you and Peter could find it soon enough…”

“Now who’s tempting who?” Neal held out a hand, and Hughes gave it a firm shake. The older man was looking better with each passing minute, and Neal had an idea it was due to the relief he was feeling at finally getting to set Neal – and by proxy, Peter – free. “Agent Hughes, thank you again. It’s been a long, fulfilling – sometimes scary, but fulfilling – journey, and I can honestly say I’d do it again. I’d change a few things, but being a part of this project meant a lot to me. Will it sound corny if I say I feel like I did something really meaningful with my life?”

“Maybe a little, but if it helps, I feel the same way.” Hughes lowered his voice before continuing, glancing around almost as if he expected to be overheard in spite of the fact that the compound was the property of the organization and, as such, was completely secure. “I know you’ve become pretty attached to Neal Caffrey, as have those around you, so we’re going to allow you to keep the identity if you decide that’s what you want. You’ll have some time to think it over. Let me know by the end of your debriefing.

“We’ll make adjustments to your records, of course. We’ll expunge all references to your crimes, make sure they point to the recovery operations instead, and we’ll add a vague reference to a classified ten-year deep cover assignment. We’ll reinstate you, this time as a member of the Art Crimes team, and you’ll be assigned to the New York field office, working primarily with Peter and the White Collar division. You’ll have some commendations coming as well.”

Neal took a deep breath, his emotions reeling yet again with this new bit of information. Of course he’d become attached to Neal Caffrey. It wasn’t his birth name, wasn’t even close, but he hadn’t been that other man in so long that it took his brain a few seconds to even fill in the blank.

_Henry Aaron Sullivan._

He smiled a little at the name and how foreign it sounded to him now. His father had insisted on naming him after Hank Aaron, and his mother allowed it with the concession that they call him by his middle name. Peter would’ve gotten a kick out of that, though Neal wasn’t sure he’d ever tell him. Maybe someday when all of this was long in their collective past, he’d take Peter somewhere far away and secluded, and he’d tell him the truth. Maybe someday.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, something from the past he and Peter already shared, and he cocked his head at Hughes.

“Will I get my pin?”

Again, Hughes laughed, and in that instant, Neal was sure the man was going to beat the cancer that was threatening to bring him down. For a second or two, he saw the old Reese Hughes – still slim, but healthy and vital.

“Of course you will. I’ve already arranged it so that Peter will present it to you at the next commendation dinner. He doesn’t know that yet, but he’ll find out soon enough.”

This time, it was Neal who laughed, even as he shook his head and blinked back tears. “You shrewd son-of-a-bitch.”

Hughes just looked proud of himself, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning.

“And Moz?”

Hughes nodded. “Inspector Winters has already been notified. He’ll be staying on with you for as long as his services are needed. Although, for whatever it’s worth, I think he’s become a permanent fixture.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Neal’s mood sobered a bit as he realized they were coming to the end of their time together. If Hughes wasn’t able to recover, there was a very good chance the two might never see each other again.

“Ah, Caffrey. ‘It is good to have an end to journey toward.’”

Though it was a struggle, Neal managed to get the rest of the quote past the lump in his throat. “‘But it is the journey that matters, in the end.’”

“I’ll leave you with the same advice I gave you that last day at the bureau.” Hughes put his hands on Neal’s shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes. “Take care of Peter.”

Neal simply nodded, too overcome to reply. When the older man’s hands slipped away, Neal gave him a long look, hoping it didn’t look too much like a ‘goodbye, just in case’ before turning and walking back into the house.

\-------------

Peter’s initial reaction was bad.

Neal had expected it, even tried to prepare himself for it while he waited, but that didn’t make it any easier to see.

After sending Peter outside, Neal had locked himself in the bathroom long enough to pull himself together before making his way out to face Eileen Hughes. She knew he’d be a little rattled and that he’d need good company and a distraction, and she’d provided both with her usual grace. They’d gone to the ice cream parlor in the cafeteria, then sat in the beautiful atrium and caught up with each other as he ate his cup of pistachio and she ate her cone of plain vanilla. _"There’s so much excitement in my life – my lives – that I need to balance it out with a little slice of ordinary sometimes,"_ she’d said with a sweet smile that reminded him so much of his mother. His real mother, the one who was loving and supportive and had always made sure Neal – _Aaron_ – knew how proud she and his father were of him, even during those rare times when he wasn’t the best in his class.

Maybe he’d take Peter and Elizabeth to meet them someday – if Peter could wrap his mind around the fact that the man he’d known as James Bennett wasn’t Neal’s father after all. Peter could bond with Bill Sullivan over baseball, maybe even take in a game if the Yankees were playing in Tampa that week. Neal’s mind boggled, though, at the idea of revealing to Peter that not only did he enjoy baseball, but that he’d been an all-star shortstop during his elementary and junior high school days.

He was talking with Eileen about her sesame ginger salmon recipe when Peter burst through the doors at the back of the atrium. His brown eyes were open wide, hints of a thousand yard stare around the edges, and they darted wildly around the room as he stalked through. 

Peter’s gaze flitted over Eileen Hughes and settled briefly on Neal, but he never even slowed down. He exited through the front doors much the same way he’d entered, slamming them open and barreling down the steps.

Neal mumbled a hasty apology and goodbye to Eileen, gave her a warm hug, and rushed to follow Peter. He knew the other man wouldn’t get far – he’d lifted Peter’s car keys shortly after they’d arrived, already anticipating a bad reaction – but by the time he made it outside, Peter was nowhere to be seen.

After looking around the parking lot and on the veranda, Neal started down the long driveway, his eyes scanning the vast property for any sign of the other man. He’d made it all the way to the bend in the private road before finally catching sight of him. There was a small butterfly garden well off to the side of the road, the flowers adding cheerful splashes of color to the otherwise green landscape, and Peter was sitting on the lone wrought iron bench beside it. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Neal approached cautiously, sitting beside Peter and resting a hand between his shoulder blades. Peter seemed oddly relaxed, his shoulders neither tense nor shaking, and Neal wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d been expecting some sort of strong emotion, especially after seeing the way the other man blew through the atrium, but the only hint that something was out of the ordinary was that Peter was breathing just a little harder than usual.

“Peter?” He kept his voice soft, compassionate. For as startled as he himself had been by the fact that his deal was finally coming to an end, he knew it was nothing compared to what Peter must be feeling. “You going to be okay?”

Peter nodded slowly, then ran his hands down over his face before dropping them down to hang loosely in front of his knees. “Yeah.” He sounded shell-shocked; that was the only term Neal’s brain could find for a tone he’d rarely heard from the other man. “I will be.”

“Are _we_ okay?”

Peter continued to stare down at the grass in front of his feet. “It’s a lot to wrap my mind around.” He let out a long sigh before finally sitting up and turning to look at Neal. “How much of it was real? I mean, I know what Hughes told me, but I – I need to hear it from you.”

Neal considered the question for a moment, not wanting to hesitate too long, but needing to be sure there was no doubt as to the depth of his sincerity. “You and I – our friendship, our partnership. The cases we solved, everything we accomplished. I’m still the same person, in a manner of speaking, Peter. You know, except for the fact that I’m not a criminal.”

“No.” There was now an emotion in Peter’s voice – wonder. “You’re not.” His eyes searched Neal’s face, looking for any hint that this could be yet another con, and Neal briefly wondered whether Peter now trusted him even more or not at all. “You’re an FBI agent.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah. How much did Hughes tell you?”

“He gave me the basics.” Finally, Peter’s expression softened, though it remained guarded. “You’re an _FBI agent_.”

Taking a huge leap of faith, Neal shrugged and flashed him a slightly lower-wattage version of his trademark grin. “Surprise?”

Peter inhaled sharply, holding that breath for a few seconds before huffing it out in a soft laugh. “Understatement.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Jesus, Neal. All this time, it was just one long, elaborate _setup_?”

Relieved that he hadn’t used the word ‘con,’ Neal nodded but grew more serious. “We needed your help, but you were already with Elizabeth.” He glanced away. “And you had very, um…uncompromising views of right and wrong. There was no possible way we could send you on a long-term deep cover assignment where you’d be expected to be flexible with the law on a regular basis.”

Peter’s eyes widened, but there was a hint of amusement in them. “Flexible? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

“That’s a more socially acceptable way of putting it, yes.” Neal allowed a small smile. “Once you started solving cases for the bureau, it didn’t take long for them to realize how good you were, how smart. Hughes brought you to the attention of the founder, and the two of them started to brainstorm about ways they could get your help. As agents, you and I were similar enough in style and intellect that they wanted us to work together.”

“As agents.” Peter looked down at the ground, seeming to turn this over in his mind. As the seconds ticked away, Neal counted them off in his head; he got to seven before Peter’s head shot up, wide eyes fixing on the younger man. “Wait a minute. Tell me you haven’t been with the bureau longer than I have.”

“Not quite; I didn’t turn twenty-three until 2000.” Neal gave a dismissive wave of his hand, but when Peter continued to stare at him, he finally relented. “I finished high school when I was sixteen and graduated from Williams with a double major in sociology and art history. The bureau started recruiting me when I was working on my master’s at Columbia. I guess they saw certain markers in my test scores and some of the papers I’d written, and the found out that I’d been studying authentication and forgery detection on the side. After grad school, I finished at the top of my class at Quantico, and they sent me straight to D.C.

“Not long after I started there, I was contacted about a possible long-term assignment that went well beyond the realm of the FBI. After I’d found my place within the organization, they told me they wanted to pair me up with an agent on the outside.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And here we are.”

Peter nodded slowly, trying to process this information with a mind that was likely still reeling from everything Neal and Hughes had already revealed to him. “So, you’re not Neal Caffrey?”

“That’s kind of…complicated,” Neal replied softly. “My parents call me something else, and I’ll tell you about that person at some point, but I’ve spent most of my adult life as Neal Caffrey.” He rubbed at the palm of his left hand with the fingers of his right. “We never expected this assignment to last as long as it did. But you and I were better at this than they ever could have imagined, and it didn’t make sense to just drop the whole thing.”

Peter leaned forward and rubbed at his forehead. “I just can’t… _dammit_ , Neal.” He let out a sigh that turned into a long, frustrated groan. Neal said nothing, waiting as his friend tried to work through the idea that not only was Neal someone else, but that the last decade of his life had just been abruptly flipped on its ass. “How?”

“They’d been planning it for a while.” He could feel a smile trying to tug up the corners of his mouth, but the memory was bittersweet enough to fight it off. “They wanted us working together, so they came up with Neal Caffrey and made his a case they didn’t think you’d be able to resist. Although Reese Hughes wasn’t above assigning my case to you if you passed on it.”

“Hughes?” Peter looked like he’d been punched in the gut, and Neal wondered again just how much or how little the agent had been told. “So he was the one who was behind this whole thing?”

“He was one, yeah. I was another. The third…well, that’s a long story.” Before Peter could ask, Neal held up a finger, then pulled out his cell phone. He quickly logged into a secure server, then another, before bringing up a series of photos. He tried to ignore the dull ache forming in his chest as he handed the phone to Peter. “Do you remember this man?”

Peter looked at the photo on the screen, and it didn’t take long for recognition to spark in his eyes. His brows drew together as he tried to figure out where he’d seen the middle-aged, dark-skinned man. Neal kept his eyes on Peter’s face so he didn’t have to look at the photo, and he noticed immediately when the gears clicked into place in Peter’s brain.

“He came to talk to me at the bureau.” Peter nodded slowly, as if affirming his own statement. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. A year or two after I graduated from Quantico. Ron Ellis, or maybe Rob? He said he was interviewing certain agents who had leadership potential.” Peter’s eyes widened. “But he was really with the organization, wasn’t he?” Neal nodded but couldn’t return the satisfied smile that appeared on Peter’s face. “Well, who is he?”

“He’s the man who founded the organization.” Neal couldn’t manage to keep all of the sorrow out of his voice, and Peter’s eyes searched his face. Neal met his gaze for a moment, then nodded down at the phone, looking away as Peter slid his finger across the screen to switch to the next photo. He didn’t need to watch; he already knew the photos by heart.

Peter spent a several long seconds looking at that next image, one of a much younger Neal with the man from the first photo. His hair was longer, his unruly bangs hanging down over his eyebrows, and both he and the older man were smiling. The man’s hand was resting protectively on Neal’s shoulder, pulling him in just enough that it was clear they were close friends.

Neal closed his eyes and tried to swallow against the burn in his throat. He knew by Peter’s sharp intake of breath when the agent switched to the next photo – a beautiful picture of the older man with June. Both of them were dressed casually, but they still managed to look elegant together. She was seated in a chair in the parlor in the mansion, and the man was standing behind her, leaning down so that their cheeks were pressed together, his arms draped loosely around her neck.

“Wait, is this…Byron Ellington?” Peter asked in an incredulous near-whisper. “June’s husband?”

Neal could sense that Peter was staring at him, and though he wasn’t sure if he was emotionally prepared to tell it, the story of his relationship with Byron was too personal to be revealed in a debriefing. So he took a few deep breaths, steadied himself the best he could, and looked over at Peter.

“Yeah.”

“You knew him?”

Neal nodded. “More than knew him. Before he died, he was my mentor and one of my closest friends.” After another deep breath, he looked out over the garden and told Peter their story.

Byron Ellington had founded the organization – _back in prehistoric times_ , as he’d liked to say – while still an FBI agent himself. Though he stood a few inches shorter than Neal, Byron often walked around with an air of quiet dominance, chin thrust out, arms crossed across his chest. The first time Neal – or rather Aaron Sullivan – had met him, he’d been thoroughly intimidated.

Byron, though, had been quick to put him at ease. He’d taken Aaron under his wing and mentored him, and it hadn’t taken long for them to grow close. Where Reese Hughes had treated Aaron with an impartial sort of respect, Byron had immediately started grooming him for greater things, and Aaron had excelled.

That close relationship with Byron turned out to be even more important after Aaron became Neal Caffrey. Aaron, determined but sensitive, had struggled with his new persona in those early months. Devoting himself to learning Neal’s skillset had distracted him to an extent, as had his introduction to Mozzie and his offbeat but self-assured attitude. But he’d been allowed almost no contact with his family at first, and that, coupled with the isolation that came with living as someone else, had eventually started to dismantle him.

He’d begun making careless mistakes, one of which allowed Peter Burke to get dangerously close to discovering both his real identity and his connection to Reese Hughes, and Byron realized he needed someone more than a mentor. He’d taken Neal Caffrey home with him, to an impossibly large and fascinating mansion on Riverside Drive – the leader of one of the most powerful underground organizations in the world, hiding in plain sight. He’d introduced Neal to his elegant wife, June, who was able to balance her life within the organization and the one on the outside with such grace that it would have made him envious had she not been so sweet to him.

The two men had ended up on the terrace late that evening, long before Neal would come to live there, and he’d found himself standing at the balustrade, gazing out over the city. In that moment, confronted by the vastness of Manhattan and the distance that stretched between him and his loved ones, he’d found himself perilously close to tears. 

He’d turned his face away and forced himself to breathe evenly, more than a little embarrassed, and vaguely worried about what Byron might think. But then Byron’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, and Neal had felt the silent strength and compassion in that simple touch. _We’re here for you_ , it told him. _You’re not alone._

From that day forward, Byron and June had been his surrogate family. They’d later introduced him to Kathryn Hill – easily the most unassuming operative in the organization – and she’d become like a second mother to him. With the three of them surrounding him with love when he needed it, and Mozzie supplying his own brand of practical support, Neal had become the best of the best. 

His partnership with Peter back then, before the CI deal, was certainly unorthodox. Especially since Peter didn’t have the first clue that it _was_ a partnership. Any time Neal and his colleagues weren’t quite able to find a particular piece of art or a long-lost treasure, or any time they simply needed another brilliant mind to focus on the case, they’d put word out that they were planning to steal the item. With his intellect and his connections, Peter had usually ended up figuring things out and leading them right to it.

Things had been going better than Neal could have hoped. And then his world fell apart.

_Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. The words rolled off of Byron’s tongue as smoothly as if he’d been saying them all his life. Neal glanced over at him as they stood on the terrace, looking out over the city once again._

_“Got the diagnosis this morning,” Byron said softly, sipping his scotch, both of them trying to ignore the way the tumbler shook in his hand. “That’s why I’ve been shaking, and why I’ve been having so much trouble seeing lately.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d been sporadically calling the younger man Aaron over the past two weeks, or that he’d snapped furiously at the housekeeper two days earlier when she’d taken too long to clear the table after breakfast._

_“I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of it,” Neal replied calmly, trying to sound nonchalant even as a chill started to work its way through his body. “So, what kind of treatment are you looking at?”_

_Byron squinted at the city, spread out before them like a vast living canvas, and shook his head. “Palliative care for now.” The words emerged in a raspy whisper, and he swallowed audibly. “Hospice eventually. Whatever it takes to make me comfortable, I suppose.”_

_It took a moment for the meaning of those words to sink in. When it did, Neal’s first instinct was to scream, or cry, or hurl his tumbler against the wall and watch it shatter alongside his heart. Instead, he somehow managed to swallow away the initial surge of panic and grief and speak. “So, it’s…”_

_“Fatal. Yes. Always. The doctor doesn’t expect me to live beyond a year.” Though he still couldn’t look at Neal, Byron allowed a hint of a smile to grace the corners of his mouth. “June thinks I can last longer than that, though. I was always aces at beating the odds.”_

_The chill that had been lingering in Neal’s extremities rushed through his entire body, a flash flood that made him shiver, hard. He could feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and blinked them away. This was about Byron, not him. And right then, Byron didn’t need him to fall apart. He took a fortifying drink of his scotch, then cleared his throat and laid his free hand on Byron’s shoulder. “What can I do to help?”_

_Byron stayed silent for a long minute, his body quaking under Neal’s hand, though Neal suspected it wasn’t all due to the disease. When he finally looked over at Neal, his eyes were red-rimmed, and the beseeching look in them made Neal’s chest ache. “I hate to ask anything of you, but this thing – it’s fast. We’ll be bringing in aides to help, of course, but June…” He trailed off and swallowed, clenching his jaw as a particularly strong tremor ran through his body._

_“I’ll be here for her,” Neal said without a second thought. “And for you. Whatever you need.”_

From there, it had just been a matter of putting some plans into place. They’d brought in Eliana Kiraly (who Peter Burke knew as Neal’s on-and-off girlfriend, Kate Moreau) and then made sure Peter’s CI, Jimmy Burger, heard that Kate and Neal would be meeting at a particular storage facility. Once the information got back to Peter, it was a given that he’d show up to take Neal into custody.

After his trial, Neal had been able to start helping Byron and June. Peter thought he was in prison, so he would essentially be off the agent’s radar for up to four years. He’d moved into the fourth floor apartment in the Ellington mansion and, though they had staff and health care aides, he helped look after both Byron and June as Byron’s illness worsened.

Against the odds, Byron managed to hang on longer than the year the doctors gave him. They’d had no explanation for why his symptoms progressed more slowly than most, but it’d still been impossible to deny that he was disappearing from them a little more each day.

When Byron finally passed, nearly eighteen months after he’d been diagnosed, Neal had taken June with him to Kathryn’s place on Roosevelt Island, where she’d been living as Ellen Parker for several years. They’d stayed there for a few weeks, each grieving and coping in their own way, before finally returning to the mansion. During one of Byron’s last truly lucid days, months before he died, he’d asked Neal to keep an eye on June and make sure she was safe from those who wanted to bring down the organization. So he’d continued to live in the apartment in the clouds, thinking and creating and keeping June company.

Though Reese Hughes told Neal to take all the time he needed, he’d known that he’d eventually have to go back. He also knew that, before Byron’s brain was too far gone, he and Hughes had met several times to make plans for Neal’s future. He’d briefly considered asking for an out – until he started realizing that he missed it. He missed the hunt, the chase, the give-and-take of his mutual respect relationship with Peter Burke.

So he’d finally contacted Hughes, who met him at the same compound where he and Peter now sat. The older man presented him with the plan for the future – the one he’d worked on with Byron – and it was easily one of the craziest things Neal had ever heard. He’d train for the remainder of his prison sentence, then go to work for Peter Burke as a CI. Hughes seemed fairly certain the agent would take him on, and Neal certainly couldn’t argue the fact that he’d appreciate getting to work on the same side as Peter for once.

When he’d managed to wrap his brain around the scheme, which took something stronger than his usual wine, he’d started training for his future as a CI. He’d spent his days secreted away in the compound, his evenings keeping June updated (as much for the companionship as anything), and he occasionally even slipped away on a weekend – using his birth name – to visit his parents.

Approximately six months before Neal Caffrey’s prison term was set to end, Hughes had pulled him into a long and intense meeting, and he’d brought up two names – Curtis Hagen and Vincent Adler. _"We need to get you out of prison – now"_ , he’d said. They’d pulled together some of the big guns, Kate Moreau and Garrett Fowler among them, and scrambled for a plan. It took a few months to get everything in place, make some fake prison footage, and get their teams together, but once they did, Neal Caffrey escaped.

“And the rest is history.” Peter’s voice, soft and a little rough, saved Neal from having to tell any more of the story. 

Neal simply nodded. When Peter handed his phone back, he turned it on out of habit and was startled by the image on the screen. Peter had stopped at a photo June had taken of Neal reading to Byron. The older man had been near the end of his illness, non-verbal, nearly comatose, and months past his last lucid moment. Neal had continued to read to him anyway, everything from the classics to articles about the organization’s latest successful recoveries, and June occasionally took photos without him knowing.

In this particular one, he held a book – _Great Expectations_ , one of Byron’s favorites – open on his lap with one hand, and the fingers of his other hand were wrapped around Byron’s. This photo, in particular, still had the power to move Neal deeply, and the tears filled his eyes with such alacrity that a few of them fell before he even realized it was happening. 

He turned his face away from Peter, wondering if the other man had seen, and breathed through his mouth to keep from making enough noise to give himself away. He was debating what to do next when Peter’s hand wrapped around his shoulder and squeezed.

“I – I’m sorry, Neal. It doesn’t seem…fair.”

Neal nodded and wiped at his face with the side of his hand before looking up into Peter’s concerned brown eyes. “I wish you could have met him. The two of you would have gotten along really well.”

“Yeah.” Peter stared at him for a long moment before looking away. His gaze fell upon the garden in front of them, but his eyes lost focus as he pondered everything he’d learned so far. Neal waited, watching the older man closely. Peter seemed to be working his way through the situation in much the same way he did with a case, thoroughly and methodically, keeping his cool for the most part. It was something Neal had always admired about the agent.

When Peter finally spoke again, Neal could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Hughes said that when we leave here, we’ll be going straight into debriefing.”

“Right, followed by some mandatory time off for both of us.”

“I know the debriefing will fill in a lot of the other holes, but do you mind…” He sat up again and gave Neal a desperately imploring look that hit him right in the gut and nearly brought the tears back to his eyes.

“Anything,” he replied, his voice a near-whisper.

“David Siegel?”

That name was the last thing Neal expected to hear, and he suddenly found himself unable to sit there any longer. He stood and motioned for Peter to follow, then started walking across the lawn, taking a roundabout route that would eventually lead them back to the parking lot. When Peter caught up, Neal cleared his throat and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“David Siegel’s death was a cold-blooded assassination. I don’t think you ever realized just how much it affected me. Then again, you didn’t know at the time that I was an agent.” He shook his head slowly and forced himself to meet Peter’s puzzled stare. “He didn’t deserve to die, Peter. Rachel Turner and Curtis Hagen were trying to bring down the organization, and Siegel started getting too close to figuring it out.”

“They thought he was on the inside? That he was part of the organization?”

“Well, they knew he wasn’t undercover, but they thought he was an intermediary.”

“And Adler?”

It dawned on Neal that Peter was asking about people who had lost their lives over the course of their partnership, and the tightness in his chest faded. “That’s a complicated story, but basically, Vincent Adler and Terrance Pratt were in charge of a rogue faction that was trying to undermine our operations. They wanted to stockpile the world’s most important and valuable art and artifacts for themselves, which obviously went against everything we were trying to do. 

“Rachel Turner was one of their deep cover operatives at one time, but it doesn’t take someone with an IQ like yours to figure out that I didn’t know that. None of us did until later, until you and I found her files. She’d gone rogue by the time she came into contact with me, and even with as much reach as the organization has, we didn’t know she’d been connected to them. She used Hagen to help her get to me – and to the diamond – and then she killed him. Siegel found out about Turner’s partnership with Hagen by accident. If he hadn’t, he’d still be alive.”

“Christ,” Peter sighed. He stopped, overwhelmed by yet another influx of information that went against everything he’d believed, and tried to catch his breath. Neal put a comforting hand on Peter’s back, vaguely aware that he was mirroring a move Peter had often used on him.

“Yeah. This is why we should save the rest for the debriefing.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped, and Neal stroked his fingers over the older man’s back, hoping to at least offer some comfort through his touch. “Will we have to do it today? I – I don’t know how much more I can deal with.”

“No, we’ll do it when you’re ready.” He turned to face Peter, pulling his friend into a fortifying embrace. “Peter, I’m so sorry.” Peter’s arms came up to wrap around him, and Neal held him even tighter. They stayed that way for countless minutes, Peter leaning into him, Neal in the unfamiliar role of protector, easing Peter through the internal chaos.

When his breathing finally calmed, Peter pulled away and mumbled an apology of his own. He started walking, and Neal fell in beside him, his hand resting on Peter’s shoulder. He found that he really needed the contact, and he thought that Peter did, too. In any case, the other man didn’t protest.

“Neal?”

“Hmm?”

“Does that mean James Bennett wasn’t your father?”

Neal let out a soft chuckle. “My dad’s name is Bill. I’ll take you to meet my parents sometime after we get all of this worked out. They retired to Florida a few years ago. Dad spends most of his time deep sea fishing, building model train layouts – the little N-scale stuff, and going to every Rays home game. I think you two would get along really well.”

“Huh. Yeah.” The distant tone was starting to return to Peter’s voice already, and the monosyllables weren’t a good sign.

“Later, Peter. We’re done talking about this today.”

“I can’t help it,” Peter admitted. “This is all just so…surreal.” He held his hands out in front of his body, as if physically trying to hold on to the last little bits of the life he’d known for the past decade. It was safe there in that world where he was an honorable FBI agent, Neal was a charming conman, and everything was in its place. “Damn. You’re an _FBI agent_.”

Giving up on the distraction techniques for the time being, Neal simply nodded. “Not a criminal.”

Peter slipped his hands into his pockets. “Wow. So. What about prison?”

“Peter.”

“Neal.”

Neal sighed, hand tightening on Peter’s shoulder. “I did a little bit of time to keep up the illusion. You know, for whenever we knew you were stopping by, and long enough to piece together some fake security footage. The rest of the time, I was here or at June’s place. I was still able to work for the organization from here or there, and I got in some training, too. I needed to know how to be convincing as a world-renowned forger, remember?”

“Jesus.” Peter glanced over at him. “Back in the early days, did I really come close to catching you a few times?”

“Yeah,” Neal replied, his exasperation finally starting to get the better of him. “That’s part of why we knew we needed you on our side. You were damn good, and you kept getting way too close to figuring out what we were really doing.” He patted Peter on the shoulder, then motioned to the car up ahead of them in the parking lot. “Now come on, we have to get packed and catch our ride to the compound where we’ll be going through debriefing.”

They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence, and Neal fished the keys out of his pocket, unlocking the doors with the remote as they approached. Not only did Peter not seem surprised that Neal had his keys, but he offered no argument when the younger man headed for the driver’s side. He simply slipped into the passenger seat, put on his seatbelt, and leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed.

Neal opened his mouth to ask if Peter was okay, but then closed it again as the older man’s throat started to work. Peter turned his head toward the window, obviously needing to be someplace else in his mind. Rather than speak, Neal simply reached over and gave Peter’s knee a squeeze, then started the car and drove away.

\------------

Neal was just wrapping up a quick meeting with Mozzie when Peter finally returned from wherever he’d been. It was only their second day of debriefing, but Peter seemed to be more lost and overwhelmed than he’d been after his meeting with Reese Hughes. The two of them were sharing a suite at the compound, largely because those in charge of the debriefing knew Peter would need a familiar face who could be there to help him work through whatever was going on in his mind.

Peter had gone for a walk after dinner, head down and hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. When Neal asked if he needed some company, he simply shook his head and headed down the path that led to a small wooded area with a large pond on the other side. It took much of Neal’s willpower to not follow him, even if just to watch from afar, but his respect for Peter won out in the end.

He’d gone back to their spacious suite to watch the Rays pre-game show, and Mozzie had stopped by soon after for a quick pow-wow. Moz had only arrived at the compound that afternoon and hadn’t yet seen Peter, so when the agent walked through the door just as they were wrapping up, Neal held his breath, unsure of how Peter might react.

Peter came to an abrupt stop just inside the door, staring at the shorter man, his mouth hanging open. Mozzie glanced at Neal, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“Hey, Peter,” Moz said, as if he’d been calling him that all his life. He walked over and stuck out his hand, but Peter didn’t seem to notice. “Well, you don’t have to be rude. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other before.” Peter swallowed, the tension evident in his stiff stance, and Mozzie sighed. “Do I really still have to call you ‘Suit’ just so you can wrap your mind around this?”

Neal cringed and shook his head. “Moz…” The comment seemed to help, though, as Peter finally relaxed and accepted Mozzie’s handshake.

“I – I don’t even know what to call you,” Peter said softly, his usual confidence conspicuously absent. 

“Mozzie’s fine. It’s a nickname, not an alias.” He shrugged and offered a crooked smile. “Or if you’d prefer, Theodore works as well. Although with the state you’re in right now, I’d stick with the one with fewer syllables.”

“Seriously, Moz?” Neal groaned. “Weren’t you just leaving?”

Before Mozzie had a chance to answer, Peter spoke again. “They said something about…Scotland Yard?”

“Oh, I’m not official,” Mozzie said, rocking back on his heels. “But I do hold honorary rank with them. Makes it easier to clear some of my activities. So, officially-non-officially, I’m Inspector Winters. But that has even more syllables, so forget I said anything.” Neal gave him one more warning look, and Mozzie acknowledged it with a curt nod. “Well, I’ve worn out my welcome, so I’ll be going now.”

“Goodnight, Moz.” Neal gave him a pat on the arm and a grateful smile.

“‘Night, Neal. ‘Night, Peter.” When Peter’s eyes again widened, Mozzie held up a hand. “I’ll leave you with this. ‘The truth is rarely pure and never simple.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” Peter mumbled before pushing past the two men and disappearing into the suite’s bathroom.

“Wow,” Mozzie said in an exaggerated whisper. “You weren’t kidding. He’s really off.”

“He’ll be fine,” Neal said, his voice low, trying to convince himself as much as Mozzie. “He just needs some time.”

“Right. And a lot of scotch.” With that, Mozzie let himself out.

Neal shook his head and locked the deadbolt behind him, in spite of the fact that the doors were equipped with iris scanners, and very few people had authorized access to their room. He could tell Peter had reached his limit for the day, and the last thing he wanted was for one of the higher-ups to drop by unannounced. The odds of that happening were admittedly low, but their case was a special one, and everyone seemed to want to spend time picking the brains of the “legends.”

For Neal, the scrutiny had become bothersome pretty quickly, but that’s all it was to him – a simple annoyance. He couldn’t even imagine how it made Peter feel. Though the older man pushed through each of the debriefing sessions with his usual fortitude, smiling in the right places and saying whatever he thought they expected of him, Neal could tell he was still having a hard time accepting this new reality.

With a weary sigh, Neal sat back down on the sofa and took a swig of his beer before unmuting the television and turning his attention back to the game. Within a few minutes, Peter walked into the room, pausing to take in the scene before he sat down beside Neal.

Neal turned to him and smiled. “Should I just assume you want a beer?”

Deep lines bracketed the bridge of Peter’s nose for just a moment before he relaxed enough to manage a half-smile that smoothed them away. “You’re drinking beer and watching baseball. I don’t think I’ll ever completely get used to this.”

“If it helps, it’s Summer Shandy, so it’s probably the kind of beer you’d expect me to drink.” He leaned forward and grabbed a bottle from the bucket on the table, then handed it to Peter. “And I couldn’t watch much baseball for the last few years in case you showed up unannounced at June’s, but now I can.”

“Are they winning?”

“No. I haven’t seen much since Moz was here, but it’s already looking pretty bad.”

Peter glanced at the screen and shook his head, twisting the cap off his beer. “They’re playing Boston? Go Rays.”

Neal couldn’t help chuckling at that. “Yeah, I figured you’d be with me on this one. I’m not a huge Rays fan, but it’s Dad’s team, and I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Peter just grunted in response and took a sip of his beer. Though he didn’t comment on it, he took a longer pull before putting the bottle on the end table and settling back into the corner of the sofa. 

Neal wanted to say something to him, but for once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Peter, too, seemed to have the same problem. He opened his mouth more than once as if to speak, only to close it again. They simply sat there as an entire inning passed, both with so much to say and no way to say it.

It wasn’t until Longoria hit a beautiful three-run shot way up into the stands in left field that Neal noticed Peter wasn’t even watching the game. The older man’s eyes had lost focus, and he was absently running a finger over his lower lip.

“Peter?” He leaned over to give Peter’s knee a pat. “Hey, you hanging in there?” When Peter responded with a barely-there shake of his head, Neal turned to face him. “Come on, watch the game with me. You need a distraction. They’ve got Extra Innings here, so we can switch to something else if you want. What time are the Yankees playing tonight?”

Peter shrugged and ran a hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure what does anymore.”

Neal was startled by the tone of Peter’s voice, so despondent that it made the younger man’s heart ache. “Peter –”

“Not now, Neal,” Peter said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “Or…whatever your name is.” He stood abruptly and paced into the kitchen, where he started looking through the unfamiliar cupboards. Neal followed, but he kept his distance, watching Peter closely. Peter knew he was there but didn’t look at him, instead pulling a tumbler from one of the cupboards and a bottle of scotch from another. “I’ll be fine. _We_ will be fine. It’s just…it’s going to take some time.” He poured himself a finger, then knocked it back before pouring again, this time much more generously.

“I know, Peter. I just –”

“Don’t. Because you’re wrong. You _don’t_ know.” He finally turned to look at Neal, the pain and anger in his eyes combining to form a look of pure devastation. “I was going to tell you that it’s probably a lot like what you felt when you found out that your father was a crooked cop and not a hero, but that – that didn’t even _happen_.” He spoke softly, as in control as he always was, but there was a bitterness in his voice that drove a cold spike deep into Neal’s gut. “The whole goddamn thing was a lie. But you know, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that I fucking _fell for it_.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the tumbler and walked slowly back to his room at the other end of the suite.

Neal considered following him and trying to help him sort through the confusion. Instead, he just sat down on the sofa and went back to watching the game, pretending it would distract him from Peter’s anguish. Though Peter probably needed him, he’d never admit it, and Neal was sure the other man didn’t want to be near him just then. Peter had his own way of working through any major problems – a way that usually didn’t involve Neal, in spite of how close they’d gotten over the years.

He was at least able to take some comfort in Peter’s earlier words. _"I’ll be fine. We will be fine."_ Though they’d been spoken in that same defeated tone, Neal could tell that Peter had truly believed what he’d said.

Still, as the game droned on, and the Rays dug themselves into an even deeper hole, Neal grew restless with the need to do something to help Peter. He switched over to the Yankees game, then walked to the kitchen and got his own tumbler of scotch, but neither helped.

Finally, his heart got the better of him, and he walked back to Peter’s room, his tumbler in one hand and the bottle in the other. If nothing else, maybe they could drink themselves past the point of having to think about the whole convoluted mess.

When he got to the door, though, what he heard stopped him in his tracks. Peter was on the phone, and though Neal could only hear Peter’s side of the conversation, it became clear pretty quickly that he was talking to Elizabeth. El didn’t yet know exactly what was going on – and would probably never know the entire story – but she knew that Peter was going through a lengthy debriefing and that it involved Neal’s past. She’d been given a secure phone with which to talk to him; Neal knew that it was more for Peter’s sake than for hers.

“I wish I could tell you more,” Peter was saying, his voice thick. “I just feel so stupid. All these years, I was trying to stay a step ahead of him, and I thought I was doing a decent job of at least keeping up. God, El, I wasn’t even in the same zip code.” There was a pause, long enough for Neal to start to feel guilty for eavesdropping, before Peter finally spoke again. “I know, and I’m trying to look at it that way, but I just…it’s hard to explain without being able to tell you the whole story. He acts like I should be really happy about this, and part of me is, but…right, exactly. And now I know why.” Peter let out a ragged groan, and again, Neal was hit with the urge to go to him. “Hmm? Oh, just a little scotch, and not enough to even put a dent in this.” 

As they started to say their goodbyes, Neal wandered back out to the kitchen, not only to give Peter a little privacy, but so he wouldn’t be caught if Peter came out for a refill after ending the call. Several minutes passed as Neal leaned against the counter, sipping his drink and vaguely watching the game, before he finally made his way back to Peter’s room.

“Peter?” He knocked softly on the door, not even sure if he expected an answer.

“It’s open.”

Neal tucked the bottle under his arm and opened the door. Peter was sitting on the side of the bed, a nearly empty tumbler in his hand and a frown on his face. He didn’t look up when Neal approached, but he let out a long breath and nodded at the bed, a silent invitation for Neal to sit with him. Neal put the bottle on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed, far enough away to clearly see Peter’s face, but close enough for a reassuring touch if needed.

They sat in silence for well over a minute, and though Peter still seemed out-of-sorts, Neal could tell that his talk with Elizabeth had helped. Whether it was what she said or just hearing her voice, Peter’s back was straighter and he was holding his shoulders a little higher, which made him seem so much more like himself. It had a surprisingly calming effect on Neal. Without really thinking about it, he took a deep breath and did something he’d thought he might never do.

“It’s Aaron,” he said softly, looking down at the tumbler in his hands. “Henry Aaron Sullivan, but I went by my middle name. I was born in Texas, but we moved to a town in rural Maryland when I was seven. My dad was a contractor, and my mom, believe it or not, was a sports reporter for the local paper. We had a mutt named Dusty and a Corgi named Tess, I spent a couple of years delivering the _Times-News_ – that’s the one Mom wrote for – on my bike, and I played shortstop on the local Little League team. Which was the only thing that kept me from being seen as a total nerd, by the way…skipping a couple of grades will do that. What else? Um, my first car was an old Duster, my first girlfriend was Becca Kaiser, and I was only able to afford Williams because I got a full scholarship.” He paused and risked a glance at Peter, who was watching him closely with an expression that, oddly enough, Neal couldn’t quite read.

“Huh.” Peter cocked his head. “You were named after Hank Aaron?”

In spite of the undercurrent of tension in the room, Neal couldn’t help chuckling at that. “I knew you’d pick up on that.” He sipped his scotch, then looked back up at Peter, his smile slowly fading. “That’s not who I am anymore, though. I’ve been Neal Caffrey for so long now that I’m not sure I can ever go completely back. You, Elizabeth, Moz, everyone at the bureau…you’re my life now, my reality.”

Peter considered him for a moment before finally shaking his head. “I’m not even sure what my reality _is_ anymore.” He took a generous swallow of scotch, and Neal found himself wondering if the physical burn helped dull the pain of the emotional one. “I’m not…I can’t…” He trailed off and looked down at the floor, and when he continued, the broken tone was back. “I – I spent a decade of my life chasing you, then trying to keep you on the straight and narrow, hoping that what I was saying was getting through and that you’d be reformed when your time with me was up. And this whole time, you were just playing me. Reese Hughes was playing me. The goddamned bureau was playing me. I thought I was pretty good at what I did, but the whole time - the _whole time_ , Neal – you all were doing this right under my nose, and I didn’t even see it. Didn’t have a clue. Never even _suspected_. God, I feel like such a _fool_.” Peter stood suddenly, pacing to the window. He knocked back the last of his scotch and put the tumbler on the sill in front of him.

Neal gave Peter a moment to compose himself before joining him, but what he saw when he got there was still so unexpected that it nearly took his breath away. There were tears on Peter’s face, and his chin was trembling. He turned his head away, and a few shaky breaths escaped before he managed to get control of them.

Though he’d never seen him cry outright before, Neal had seen Peter get emotional. The older man had never tried to hide it when he got choked up or teary-eyed; he faced his emotions head-on, just like everything else in his life. Neal had known Peter would need some time to adjust to this new reality, but he hadn’t expected that it would hit the normally resilient agent quite this hard. He’d hoped that Peter would be relieved, curious, even a little angry at first. The last thing he’d expected was for him to feel like a failure.

“Peter, hey.” Neal did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled Peter into a hug. The other man resisted at first, his body going rigid. When Neal didn’t let go, though, and started running a hand up and down his back, Peter gave in and returned the hug, just barely allowing himself to relax into Neal. He dropped his chin to Neal’s shoulder and stilled, quietly battling with his emotions.

It didn’t take long for Peter to gather himself, and he backed far enough away to look into Neal’s eyes. His cheeks were still wet, and it made Neal’s heart hurt to look at them. When he finally managed to speak, his words once again threw Neal for a loop, this time for an entirely different reason.

“I treated you like a criminal. All this time. And you weren’t – god, I _called_ you a criminal how many times, and you weren’t. You weren’t. All of those times I _reminded_ you or…threatened to send you back. God, Neal, I – I’m sorry.”

Peter’s words twisted into Neal’s soul, and he swallowed hard. They’d finally gotten to the heart of the matter, to what was really causing so much of Peter’s anguish. It wasn’t that he’d fallen for their decades-long deception, although that wasn’t helping. It was because during that time, he’d believed that Neal was a criminal. Every thought he’d had about Neal, every decision he’d made regarding the younger man was based on that belief.

Finding out that Neal was a deep cover agent working for an elite organization – and that they’d actually been on the same side of the law the whole time – wasn’t simply unsettling to Peter. It apparently also left him with a great deal of guilt and regret. Neal hadn’t been ready for that, and he struggled against the tightness in his chest as his mind tried to settle on what to say.

“You – you didn’t know,” he finally said, hoping his merciful expression would convey what his words couldn’t. A small part of him wished Reese Hughes would have been there to see the fallout.

All of those years, he’d been telling Hughes that it was too much, that deceiving Peter for so long was wrong. Hughes disagreed, saying Peter would be able to handle it. Peter was tough, he’d said. Peter believed in justice being served, and that’s exactly what they were doing. But for as intelligent as Reese Hughes was, it was clear now that the older agent had vastly underestimated Peter’s capacity for remorse.

“I should have,” Peter said, pushing away from him. “I should have known _something_ , especially after all this time.” He took his tumbler over to the nightstand and poured himself two more fingers. “Jesus, Neal, think of all of the things we could have accomplished together had I known you were on the right side of the law the whole time.” He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and took a gulp of scotch that made Neal’s own throat burn. “And to think I put you in prison.” He looked down and rubbed at his forehead with his free hand as Neal sat back down next to him.

“I think you did know something,” Neal said softly after a moment had passed. When Peter gave him a dubious sideways glance, Neal nodded. “Think about it, Peter. You never really trusted me. No matter how hard I tried to earn your trust, there was always something that kept you from giving it to me. You always suspected that I wasn’t telling you the whole truth. You _knew_ , whether you realized it or not.”

Peter looked up and cocked his head. “Maybe,” he said in a near-whisper. “I never could have imagined, though.”

“And what if you had?” Neal nudged Peter’s knee with his own. “Seriously, I was allowed to do a lot of questionably-legal things when you were my handler. How many of those things would I have gotten away with if you’d known I was a deep cover agent?”

“None of them,” Peter answered immediately, and the corners of his mouth managed to lift in a small smile. 

“No more government-sanctioned crimes.” Neal returned the smile. “I won’t know what to do with myself.”

“And I won’t be able to send you on any of them,” Peter said, giving Neal a fond look. “But at least now I know I can trust you.”

“You can.”

A silence fell between them, comfortable and fitting. To Neal’s relief, Peter had switched from gulping to sipping his drink. 

“Neal?”

“Yeah?”

Peter stared down into his glass, turning it around in his hand. “Keller really took El to keep her safe?”

“He did.”

“From Pratt’s people? They were on to us that early?”

“They were on to us from the start. After you took out Adler, Pratt and his higher-ups wanted to take you down, but without making it look like that’s what they were doing. I didn’t know about what they were doing – that information was apparently above my pay grade – but Hughes knew, and those above him in the organization knew. And then once James Bennett came into the picture, well…it all sort of went to hell in a big, flaming handcart.” Neal shook his head slowly.

“So Bennett was a mole.” Though it wasn’t a question, there was an inquisitive tone to Peter’s voice, and it left Neal feeling relieved. He’d heard that tone on many occasions, every time Peter started systematically puzzling through something. If he was using that tone, then he’d accepted what was going on, at least on some level.

“He was, yeah. He was sent in to get the contents of the evidence box. The documents in the box would have exposed everything Pratt’s group had done and the extent of his corruption, but there were also papers in there that would have revealed the existence of our organization to the general public, and we couldn’t let that happen.”

“So Mozzie was sent in to intercept the box.”

“Exactly. They didn’t tell me who Bennett worked for – plausible deniability, or so they said. All I knew was that they were going to make it look like he was my father, and that I should go along with it. Had I known how that would end, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.” Neal’s voice faded into a raspy whisper, and he shook his head. Peter had ended up in prison as a result of the whole fiasco, a nightmarish outcome that Neal couldn’t ever have imagined. 

Peter put his free hand on Neal’s shoulder but said nothing, still turning the information over in his mind. He’d already heard most of it in a briefing that morning, but Neal had expected to have to go over all of it again as Peter reconciled this new information with what he thought he’d known.

“James Bennett was a mercenary.” Peter squeezed his shoulder. “And you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t. As far as I knew, he was just there to help us get the evidence box, but that we weren’t supposed to let him have the paperwork until the organization had gone through it. I had no idea he’d shoot Pratt –”

“– and frame me for it.” Peter finished. “This morning, they didn’t say what happened to him or why they couldn’t get his confession.”

“He’s been…dealt with appropriately.” Neal didn’t know the whole story behind what happened to Bennett, and he didn’t particularly want to know.

Peter downed the rest of his drink, then put down the tumbler and buried his face in his hands with a low, frustrated groan. Neal watched him closely but said nothing, not even quite sure if anything he could say would help anyway. They sat in silence for a few moments before Peter finally dropped his hands to his thighs and sat up, taking a deep breath.

“Okay, I’m switching to water…and going for a walk. You’re coming along.”

“I am?”

“You are.” Peter rose and left without another word. Neal sat on the bed for a moment, finishing his own drink and smiling. With that simple command, Peter sounded like himself again – like the old Peter Burke, the one whose entire world hadn’t recently been rearranged. It made Neal feel unusually hopeful, and he finally stood and went to catch up with Peter.

\-------------

“I want you to tell me about David Siegel.”

Neal leaned back on his hands, his legs dangling over the edge of the dock, bare feet only inches from the water. He’d had an idea that Peter wanted to bring him out to the pond to talk about Siegel, whose death still haunted the fringes of the older man’s thoughts. It was a conversation Neal was dreading, but at the same time, he owed Peter an explanation. The debriefings hadn’t yet covered Siegel’s death, but Neal thought it might be better if Peter heard the story from him anyway.

After grabbing a couple of bottles of water and handing one to Neal, Peter had led him down the path and through the woods to the large pond. They hadn’t spoken at first, and when Peter had removed his shoes and socks, Neal had done the same without question.

Peter was sitting beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his legs, looking down at his toes as they skimmed the surface of the water. It seemed like such an innocent, childlike gesture, especially in the face of what they were about to discuss. Peter’s tone, though, left no doubt that he was finally coming back to himself. That, in itself, was encouraging enough for Neal to want to give Peter the information – and perhaps the rest of the closure – he needed. He took a deep breath and plunged into the story, head first.

“Peter, what happened to Siegel wasn’t your fault. It was ours.” 

“How?” 

“He was a plant.” Neal glanced over and wasn’t surprised to see that Peter had fixed him with a disbelieving stare. “The organization had been looking for someone to work with Sie–…with David.” Neal forced himself to use the man’s first name, though it hurt to do so. Continuing to refer to Siegel by his surname would have been more impersonal and would have allowed Neal to distance himself from what had happened, but he just couldn’t do it. A great agent with seemingly limitless potential had lost his life, and it _was_ personal, for both of them. Using his first name may have been a small gesture, but it felt right. It felt respectful. “They thought he’d be the next Peter Burke and wanted to put him with someone who would push him beyond his limits, the same way I did with you.” A sly grin ghosted across the corners of his mouth before disappearing.

“Bruce Hawes wanted to fast-track you to D.C., and when we heard he was offering you the ASAC job, we knew you wouldn’t turn it down. When you started talking about finding a new handler for me, the organization got the opening it needed. They made sure you saw David’s file and that you heard about everything he’d done in Chicago.”

“They made him impossible to turn down,” Peter said softly.

“Well, his record was authentic; they didn’t need to embellish anything. But they knew you’d like him, and they may or may not have eliminated his closest competition by promoting them elsewhere.”

Peter nodded, his eyes losing focus for a moment, likely thinking back to when he’d chosen David Siegel. He ran a hand over his mouth, then leaned forward again, peering down into the water. “Why?”

“For the same reason they chose you,” Neal replied. “He was smart and thorough, and they were looking to recruit him. They wanted to start him off the same way they did with you, but since he was single, they were considering eventually bringing him inside. They liked that he had book smarts _and_ street smarts. I mean, it took him what, a day, to find Mozzie’s real name?” Neal shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, wistful. “God, he had so much potential. What a waste.” He leaned forward, mirroring Peter’s posture, and fought against the emotions that were rising inside him – _Aaron’s_ emotions. 

And just like that, it hit him, like the proverbial ton of bricks. Hit him so hard that his chest tightened until he could barely breathe, and his fingers turned white around his knees, and his feet went cold as they hung above the lukewarm pond water. Peter seemed to have noticed his struggle and glanced away politely, probably assuming that Neal was just getting emotional about Siegel’s death.

And that was part of it, certainly, but what hit Neal as he sat there, what drove the air from his lungs and made him shiver even in the mild evening air, was the fact that he didn’t want to be Neal Caffrey any longer.

He didn’t want to be that man that Peter had chased for years, that man Peter thought he’d put in prison. He didn’t want to be the man who’d conned Peter with half-truths and lies of omission, whose fake father had put Peter in prison for six weeks. He didn’t want Peter to look at him and remember the day Elizabeth was abducted, or when he’d taken Vincent Adler’s life to save Neal’s, or the day they stood over David Siegel’s body as the raindrops fell down on his pale and lifeless face like tears from the gods.

All of those memories were connected to Neal Caffrey, in Peter’s brain and in his own, and that would never change. Even after years had passed and Peter had gotten used to the idea that the man he’d thought was a criminal was really an FBI agent, there would be times when the older man would see or hear the name ‘Neal Caffrey’ and remember that he’d been deceived for a decade and that he’d never figured it out. The idea that Peter might never totally be able to trust him again only served to reinforce his sudden decision.

Neal Caffrey was an alias, a character in this grand charade, but he wasn’t real. It was Aaron, not Neal, who’d screamed when Kate died, and who’d cried at Ellen’s – _Kathryn’s_ – funeral, and who’d pleaded with James Bennett to keep Peter out of prison. It was Aaron who’d been quietly devastated by the death of a smart young FBI agent, one who would have likely grown to become Peter’s successor. And it was Aaron who begged Reese Hughes more than once to reveal everything to Peter.

 _"We can’t keep doing this to him,"_ he’d said to Hughes as they sat in the tiny kitchen of one of Mozzie’s safe houses. _"And I can’t keep doing this either."_ That morning, he’d had his heart ripped out by Peter’s harsh words - _you’re a criminal, and you can’t help yourself. Shame on me for expecting anything else._ When he’d left Peter’s office, mind racing, trying – and barely succeeding – to keep the façade of Neal Caffrey in place, he’d been determined to put a stop to the operation once and for all.

Hughes had seen the pain in Neal’s – _Aaron’s_ – eyes that evening, heard the way his breathing quickened in an effort to keep the tremor out of his voice, and he’d mercifully agreed. He’d promised to get both agents out of the situation as soon as circumstances would allow.

And then the bottom had fallen out of their respective worlds. Neal found out the truth about Rachel Turner right around the same time Reese Hughes found out he had cancer. Neal was forced to deal with the situation with the diamond – and what came after, while Hughes faced a long course of aggressive treatments. Both of them ended up staring death in the face more than once before finally coming out the other side.

“Neal?”

The voice cut through his thoughts, but he couldn’t respond. He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. Was he Neal, with the slick suits and the charismatic smile and the diverse criminal skill set? Or was he Aaron, the devoted FBI agent who was so much like Peter in his convictions that it sometimes scared him?

“Neal.” 

Neal gave a barely-there shake of his head and closed his eyes, pursing his lips and breathing deeply through his nose as he continued to fight for control. A hand fell on the back of his neck, gentle and warm and familiar, and he almost broke down.

“Aaron.” Peter’s voice, as calm and steadfast as ever, was like a soothing balm. It gave Neal strength, especially hearing Peter refer to him by his given name, and he started to pull himself together. “I know. I know it hurts.” Peter’s hand slid down to between his shoulder blades, grounding him. “What happened to David was wrong. But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.”

Peter moved his hand to Neal’s shoulder and pulled him closer, and Neal leaned into him. He needed the contact; in that moment, it may have been the only thing keeping him from falling apart. And if Peter was slipping back into the role of protector, it meant that he’d truly started to come to terms with the bombshell that had been dropped on him days earlier.

They sat there in silence for countless minutes, each drawing strength from the other. The sun had gone below the treeline, and fireflies were starting to emerge around them. Finally, Peter gave Neal’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go and stretching, a resigned sigh escaping his lips.

“For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry…Aaron. I know how hard it was for me to cope with David’s death. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, having to deal with it as Neal and as yourself. And then having to deal with the way I was treating you, and everything that was going on with Turner and Hagen, _and_ having to keep this whole deep cover thing going.” He shook his head slowly. “I just – I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I need you to know anyway.” 

Neal nodded and looked down at his feet, stretching the toes of his right one to skim the surface of the water. He watched the ripples spread, reminded of the last decade of his life and how what was supposed to be one simple deep cover assignment changed history so many times and affected so many lives.

“Thanks, Peter. It, uh, actually means a lot.” There was more he wanted to say, but his throat was burning again, and he didn’t trust his voice to stay steady. He stretched his left foot and swiped it through the water, and the new ripples intersected with the old ones – his life and Peter’s. He stared into the water until a movement beside him pulled him back to the present.

Peter was holding one arm out in front of his own face, his eyes tracking something. He suddenly closed his hand and brought it down in front of them, opening it to reveal a firefly making its way up his middle finger. As they watched, the bug lit up on the tip of his finger before finally taking flight once again. Peter looked over at Neal and gave him a soft smile.

“Used to do that all the time when I was a kid. It fascinated me to know that I was holding a life in my hand and could set it free to go on living, just like that.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Sometimes I wish everything was still that simple, you know?”

“Yeah.” Neal returned the smile. “Me, too.”

Peter swallowed hard, but when he spoke, his voice was strong, and the smile remained in place. “We should probably head back. The mosquitos will eat us alive if we stick around much longer.”

“Good point.” Neal pulled his legs up, then dried his feet with his socks and slipped his bare feet into his shoes after watching Peter do the same. They walked up the dock in silence, but as they started up the short path through the woods, Peter clapped him on the shoulder.

“So, I guess this explains how you got good with guns.”

The comment was so out-of-left-field that Neal couldn’t help laughing. “I guess so.” He glanced over at Peter, who was still grinning at him, and shrugged. “And counter-surveillance.”

“Forensic science.”

“That, too.”

“Huh.” Peter seemed to ponder something for a moment, then cocked his head at him. “But I’ve seen you forge things, and escape from handcuffs, and make a – a pigeon blood ruby, for crying out loud.” He held his hands out in front of him as if imploring Neal to help him understand. “How… _how_?”

Neal shrugged, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Some of it came naturally, and Mozzie did a good bit more than you saw, but I was trained for other things. You know, some of those times there wasn’t any sign of me for a while, and after Byron’s death, when I was supposed to be in prison? Yeah. Training.” Peter stopped and gaped at him, and Neal turned to face him with a smile. “What? Come on, Peter, think about it. It’s actually a benefit to have people with those skills on our side, too.”

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He glanced away, his brow furrowing as his mind reconciled what he’d heard. When his eyes finally met Neal’s again, Neal raised his eyebrows and gave him a reassuring nod. The lines in Peter’s face relaxed, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a wondrous smile.

“ _Our_ side,” he said softly, his eyes bright. “Yeah.”

This time it was Neal – or rather, Aaron – who offered a reassuring touch, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guiding him slowly back up the walkway to the compound.

\-------------

**Epilogue: 2 Years Later**

Aaron Sullivan stood on the deck at the Burkes’ home, looking out over their tiny yard and breathing deeply through his nose in what seemed like a futile attempt to calm his nerves. The cool evening air wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped. Neither was the wine, but he took another sip and tried to pretend that he believed it still would. The door opened behind him, but he didn’t turn as Peter approached.

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

Aaron simply nodded, letting out a long sigh. He wasn’t surprised when Peter’s hand came up to rest between his shoulder blades.

“Nervous?”

Aaron huffed out a laugh and glanced over at the man standing beside him. “What gave it away?”

Peter gave him a gentle smile. “You know she’ll say yes, right? El said they were talking about something the other day – I don’t even remember what – and Jo let a ‘when Aaron and I get married’ slip. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Maybe knowing she’ll say yes is what worries me the most.” He spoke softly, hating the insecurity in his voice. In the two years since Aaron’s deep cover assignment had ended, almost all traces of Neal Caffrey had vanished, and he missed the other man’s cocky self-assurance in times like this.

Peter’s hand slid up to rest lightly against the side of his neck. “Come sit with me for a minute.” He guided Aaron to the patio table and waited for him to sit before pulling a chair around and settling in across from him, close enough that their knees were almost touching.

In the weeks after their time at the compound, the two of them had become extremely close, though it had taken both of them some time to get used to the idea that they were now colleagues with no secrets. Aaron had to adjust to a new role, a “new” name – his birth name – and a new reputation, and Peter seemed more than a little uncomfortable around him in the office at first, as if he wasn’t sure what to expect. It wasn’t until he’d watched Aaron lead a few meetings, hands on his hips, shoulder holster stretched across his slim back, badge glinting on his belt, that Peter began to truly see him as an FBI agent. As his equal.

It helped, too, that Peter finally knew the reason why his gut had told him for so long that he couldn’t quite trust _Neal_. Once he’d learned the truth, the feeling that he’d been missing something disappeared, and he was able to give _Aaron_ his full trust.

It had started simply enough, with dinner invites, watching baseball games, or working on one of Peter’s seemingly endless list of home improvement projects. They’d eventually progressed to Friday night poker and the cheap seats at Yankees games – or occasionally the owner’s box, whenever Peter’s ASAC perks would allow it.

And with as strange as his life had been up to that point, it shouldn’t have surprised Aaron as much as it did that the place he ended up meeting the love of his life was right there – in the owner’s box at Yankee Stadium, a place Neal Caffrey wouldn’t have dared to go.

Her name was Jo Bannister, she was the coordinator for the bureau’s account…and she was the most gorgeous woman Aaron had ever seen. She wasn’t head-turning-supermodel hot, but she had a casual beauty and grace, with long brown hair, striking green eyes, and a hint of mischief in an otherwise innocent smile.

From the first time he saw her, there was something about her that made Aaron’s heart want to beat in sync with hers. The first time her eyes met his, he’d forgotten how to speak. The first time she fixed him with that something-more smile, he thought he might be in love with her. And when she grinned upon learning that he was named after Hank Aaron – before confessing that _she_ was named after Joe DiMaggio – well, he was convinced it was fate.

Peter, of course, laughed his ass off at the fact that, of all the people with whom Aaron could have fallen in love, it was someone who worked for the New York Yankees. At the same time, he and El had quickly become Aaron’s biggest cheerleaders. Through double dates and day trips and Sunday dinners, they’d nurtured and encouraged the relationship, and they’d been more understanding than he ever could have hoped.

Peter, in particular, had become a surprising source of support. He understood without being told that, where Neal Caffrey had been confident and clever with the ladies, Aaron Sullivan hadn’t dated anyone in a very long time and needed plenty of advice. And while Neal would always be a part of him, Aaron just couldn’t bring himself to pull out Neal’s slick self-assurance to deal with Jo. She simply meant too much to him.

The realization that he was finally in a relationship with a woman who knew his true self – who had fallen in love with Aaron Sullivan and not Neal Caffrey – had hit him hard, and Peter had been there to keep him from screwing everything up in a panic. Peter’s subtle but sage advice meant everything to Aaron, and though he’d never make Peter uncomfortable by breaking down and admitting it, he clung to every single word like it was gold.

“Hey.” Peter’s voice pulled Aaron from his reverie, and a foot nudged his own. “What’s got you so worried?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied, offering Peter a reluctant smile. “It’s just nerves, I think.”

“Been there. Took me an entire weekend to propose to El. And even then, the only reason I didn’t put it off was because I was afraid I’d lose the ring.” He gave Aaron a lopsided grin, and the younger man’s shoulders slumped just a little as he started to relax.

“Yeah, well at least I don’t have to worry about that part.” At Aaron’s pointed look, Peter rounded out his smile.

“No, you don’t. It’s safe.”

Aaron rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “I don’t know why this is bothering me. I guess it’s the whole idea of finally settling down and, you know, having something so permanent in my life. It’s a little…” He trailed off and shrugged.

“Scary?”

“No!” Aaron answered a little too quickly, eyes widening. Peter gave him a knowing look, and Aaron’s cheeks warmed. “Well, maybe. Just a little bit.”

Peter nodded. “That’s actually a good sign. Means you’re taking this as seriously as you should be. I think I’d be concerned if you weren’t at least a little worked up.” He took a sip of his beer, then put the bottle back on the table and leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “You spent all of those years living Neal’s life, but this decision affects _your_ life, and it’s a big one.”

“Yeah, it is. And thanks for pointing that out. Really helps with the nerves.” Aaron glanced away and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I just don’t want to mess this up. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” When he looked back up, Peter was watching him closely, a contemplative look on his face. It was an expression Aaron knew well from all of those years living as Neal Caffrey, and it usually fell upon him right before Peter gave him some deep – and often very fitting – advice.

“When was the last time _you_ dated, Aaron? High school? College?” When Aaron gave him a more-or-less shrug, Peter nodded. “So you really don’t have a track record. Look, I know Neal will always be a part of who you were and who you are, and that you learned a lot about relationships from becoming him, or Nick Halden, or any of Neal’s other aliases.

“But this isn’t like any of your other relationships. I mean, c’mon, Jo never even met Neal Caffrey. I’ve never seen you break out the old Caffrey charm with her – because you never needed it. And you don’t have to worry about keeping your real identity a secret or about eventually starting over when she finds out who you really are. Jo already knows who you really are, and that guy she fell in love with? That was Aaron Sullivan.” He leaned forward and thumped Aaron lightly on the knee, then nodded in the direction of the window.

Aaron swallowed hard and looked in through the window at Jo, who was sitting next to Elizabeth on the sofa and laughing about something. El was gesturing, and Jo looked happy and relaxed, and in that moment, Aaron realized that was how _he_ felt when he was with Jo – relaxed and truly happy. Which meant Peter was right, because he’d never felt that way with the others.

With Kate, who’d been a fellow operative, he’d felt reckless, cocky, and even a little scared. His time with Alex felt more like a footnote than a real relationship. He’d met his match with Sara, but she never trusted him not to run, and he knew she would never have tolerated the fact that he was really someone else.

And Rebecca – well, Rebecca was as much of a work of fiction as Neal Caffrey, and she’d almost killed him. Almost killed Peter. Killed David Siegel and Curtis Hagen. But even before all of those things, even as he’d been falling for her, there was something just a little off about her, something he couldn’t quite place. Like he’d walked into a room full of people right after the punchline, and they were all laughing and expecting him to know why.

But with Jo Bannister, Aaron truly felt free. He’d been open with her right from the start and had never hidden anything from her, and she’d been just as honest with him. (He knew because Mozzie had checked and had then told him, in spite of the fact that Aaron begged him not to do either.) They’d been dating for a year-and-a-half, and Aaron had never been happier.

If Kate was lightning and Alex was a mystery and Sara was champagne and Rebecca was hell, then Jo was…

…home.

At that very moment, just as Aaron was blinking away the blur of tears from his eyes, Jo glanced up and caught him watching. She smiled at him, and it was like seeing the sunshine after a week’s worth of rainy days. That simple, beautiful expression stole his breath but left a calm confidence in its place. He returned the smile, and her face relaxed into a look he’d seen on it so often over the past several months. She looked at him like he was her sole reason for living.

Aaron sighed and gave her a little wave before turning his attention back to Peter.

“Time to go get the ring?” Peter asked, his voice as soft and fond as the look on his face.

“Yeah. I’m ready.” And he was.

Peter stood and held out a hand to Aaron, then pulled him into a brief but warm embrace. “Congratulations, Aaron.”

“Thanks, Peter, but she hasn’t said yes yet,” Aaron said with a smirk as they parted.

“She will.” Peter handed the wine glass to him before picking up his beer bottle. “Now let’s go get that ring while your feet are still good and warm.” He winked and clapped Aaron on the shoulder with his free hand, then steered him toward the door.

“Peter?” Aaron hesitated just outside the door, bringing them to a stop. He turned to face the older man and cocked his head. “Do you remember when you told me that when I figured things out, I’d be the luckiest guy?”

“Yeah.” Peter sighed and shook his head wistfully. “God, that seems like so long ago.”

“It was another lifetime,” Aaron said with a grin. “But this is it. I’ve been feeling it for a while now, and when I looked in that window a few minutes ago? She smiled at me, and it hit me again. Now _I’m_ the luckiest guy.”

“Yeah. You are.” Peter squeezed his shoulder and grinned right back at him. “And I’m proud of you.” Again, he started pulling Aaron in the direction of the door. “Now if you don’t get in there and ask her soon, I’m going to do it for you.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go.” Aaron took one last deep breath, then followed Peter through the door and into the future. And though Neal Caffrey would always be a part of him, this future belonged to Aaron Sullivan.

***


End file.
